


Murder, Mayhem, and Romantic Overtures

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Eight months and ten thousand miles away from an airfield that smelled of autumn grass baking in the sun, Phryne Fisher saw Jack Robinson again shortly after arriving at a party in Mayfair.To absolutely noone’s surprise, it was over a corpse.





	Murder, Mayhem, and Romantic Overtures

**Author's Note:**

> So, full disclosure, I got these prompts and was like "THAT TITLE! I have a perfect idea for that title!" Several minutes and a cup of tea later, I realised that _I had submitted this title_. Oops? It was like a week ago, I can't be held responsible for this. But as I really wanted this fic, I decided to stick with it even if it's cheating. My only consolation is that the fic idea came later?

Eight months and ten thousand miles away from an airfield that smelled of autumn grass baking in the sun, Phryne Fisher saw Jack Robinson again shortly after arriving at a party in Mayfair. 

To absolutely noone’s surprise, it was over a corpse. 

“You’re a hard woman to track down,” he said, not looking up from his examination of Bertrand Deever’s body.

“Now that I know you’re here,” she replied, trying to hide her smile, “I think I can safely presume murder.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same about you.”

He was dressed in a tuxedo, she realised, and Viola had asserted that she’d only just found Bertie slumped in his chair in the library. Certainly not enough time to telephone the police, even if Jack did have constabulary authority in England. Which seemed unlikely.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Investigating a murder, it seems.”

“Jack....”

“You’re a detective, Miss Fisher, deduce.”

Phryne rolled her eyes, entering further into the study to begin examining the body herself.

“I’d think you were coming after me, but seeing as how it’s been months of occasional letters and you’ve not so much as hinted--” he lips thinned, hating how accusatory she sounded. He hadn’t come, but she’d been too busy to renew the offer. She could hardly blame him for doubting her sincerity. “Did you know Bertie?”

He nodded. 

“The war,” Jack said. “He wrote to me a few months ago, saying that he needed to speak to me about some letters that arrived. And as I was looking for a reason to travel….” Phryne looked up sharply, trying to suppress the intense _hope_ that filled her at that. “Well, expenses were paid and I owed Bertie… a great deal. But it seems I was too late. His wife found him like this when I arrived.”

Phryne reached over the corpse, laying a hand on the back of Jack’s.

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

His hand flipped over, his fingers gently lacing with hers. And just like that, all the doubts, all the months of distance, fell away.

“It’s fortunate that I was invited,” she said, hoping to reassure him. Instead, his ears blushed a deep red. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I had… hoped to surprise you,” he said. “I knew Bertie and Viola travelled in some of the same circles, and it seemed…” He trailed off, and Phryne squeezed his fingers. 

“Well, I’m surprised,” she said. “And while I’m very sorry for Bertie’s sake, I’m very glad you’re here.”

From outside the study, the sound of more guests arriving and being turned away could be heard. Damn. 

“We should--”

“Did you--” 

They both blushed then, which was so utterly absurd that Phryne felt the need to roll her eyes. She was not some sop-eyed youth, but this _was_ Jack and it _had_ been a long time. Still, it would wait. For him, she could wait.

“Letters, Bertie said?” Phryne asked. “If it’s something delicate enough to ask you to come all the way from Australia, perhaps we should try to find them before the police arrive?”

“He has a study,” Jack said, “on the first floor. If he’s hidden them, that’s the likeliest place. And as you are more adept at lockpicking…”

“Not in this dress,” Phryne said. “I thought I was coming to dinner, not mayhem.”

Jack stood, running his hands absently against his thighs. 

“I might be able to help with that,” he said, and pulled a box from his pocket. “I saw this when my ship stopped in India, and I thought of you.”

She took the box, opening it to reveal a silver bracelet in the shape of an asp, its eyes two small rubies. 

“It’s lovely,” she said, “but I’m not sure--”

“Ahh,” he said, reaching into the box and twisting the asp’s head slightly. It separated from the bracelet, and he pulled it away to reveal a small, thin blade inside. Perfect for picking locks or any number of slightly illegal endeavours.

“Jack Robinson!” she exclaimed, not even bothering to hide her delight. 

“It was meant as a romantic overture, but--”

She kissed him, her hand sliding against his neck and her mouth firm against his and a moan escaping her lips. 

“It’s perfect,” she said, stepping back and pretending that she hadn’t just kissed him for the first time in months, and in front of a dead body to boot. She slipped the asp’s head back into the bracelet and placed it on her wrist, then looked at him. “And when this is done…”

“I know,” he smiled, his eyes soft.

The sound of the police arriving at the house reached them. It would have to wait.

“Give me a good head start?” she asked.

He tilted his head, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“As always, Miss Fisher.”

She could deal with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, the bracelet. Is totally inspired by a real bracelet. I've altered it slightly, because I was trying not to get into the logistics of lockpicking with a flexible blade in this short a time, but Phryne needed this and I wasn't sure when I'd have the time to do it otherwise. So y'all get this. 
> 
>   


End file.
